


Dancing

by unwindmyself



Series: curious shapes shift in the dark [19]
Category: True Blood
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/F, Femslash, Lapdance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-29
Updated: 2013-01-29
Packaged: 2017-11-27 09:57:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,153
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/660659
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unwindmyself/pseuds/unwindmyself
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A good dancer always finds a way to practice, after all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dancing

**Author's Note:**

> Part two, "A Window Opens."

It doesn’t take long for the family – and there’s really no question anymore that that’s what they are, even down to the proverbial red-headed stepchild that is Jessica – to settle into a routine.  (Nobody says so, but everyone knows this is mostly Nora’s doing.)  Dinner, research, preparation; there’s even a designated time, though unofficially, for everyone to sneak off and fuck.

Designations, however, are for squares.

Pam can only handle so much hypothetical discussion of some bloody bitch who’s gone and gotten herself reincarnated into that motherfucking shitheel Bill Compton, try as she might; tonight, she's volunteered for their equivalent of lookout duty during the hours so designated.  Lookout duty, or whatever they're calling it, is varyingly involved; sometimes it could mean doing rounds outside, sometimes it could mean reviewing the security cameras or some shit (thank goodness they thought to install those around this stupid getaway house), but either way it’s better than religious studies sessions, which in Pam’s opinion are painful even when it is purely academic.

She ducks back to her room when she’s done, despite still hearing voices from the living room; from the sound of it, Nora is giving one of her scholarly and therefore important dramatic readings - it's kind of ridiculous, but it's not like anyone else here has actually read the damn text in any great detail, it probably helps to have _some_ background. Really, though, it should be no surprise that of all of them, Pam's the one playing hooky.

She’s in the middle of unpinning her hair when the door opens and in a low, husky voice, Tara orders simply, “Strip.”

Pam turns around with a lazy smile, shedding her coat and blouse in one go.  She doesn't even let Tara see the surprise, or what little of it there was, flicker across her face.  “You’re missin’ the Lilith story hour,” she murmurs.

“Jess can catch me up later,” Tara shrugs, advancing on Pam with an increasingly predatory expression.  “Right now, I’ve got other things on my mind.”

“I could tell,” Pam says, looking Tara over. There's the desire coming off her in waves, there's that look on her face, there's the fact that she’s already unzipped her jacket to reveal one of her sexiest, darkest, most vampire bras.  Pam bends over to take her sweet time with her boots, knowing that in the state Tara’s projecting this will drive her crazy and curious about just how that crazy will manifest.

As she realizes she’d have hoped, it manifests in Tara muttering, “I’m getting impatient,” and pushing Pam to sitting at the foot of the bed before she’s fully unclothed.  Not that she minds; as much as she loves to revel in the sight of her Maker's naked body, Tara has always found Pam’s pink, bow-adorned girlie lingerie sets endearing.  (She imagines, correctly, that many of Pam's previous conquests haven't been so lucky as to see the comparatively sweeter side of her that they show.)

She herself is wearing her leather shorts, too: with her hair pinned and twisted as it is, with the turquoise jacket she just now tosses off, with her thigh-high stockings (it’s a good thing the others know and don’t particularly care that there’s sex going to be taking place, because that’s a fuck-me outfit if Pam ever saw one), she looks like one of the little rockabilly girls Pam has always sort of liked.

Instead of finishing the job of undressing Pam and getting to it, though, which is what Pam is expecting, Tara languidly swings a leg over Pam’s lap and settles in, begins to roll her hips slowly.

“Ah, sweetie?” Pam smirks, nodding to the lace and leather between them.  “I think you’re forgettin’ something.”

Tara bats her eyelashes sarcastically like she does every time Pam calls her ‘sweetie.’  “What, you thought –?  Adorable,” she purrs.  “This is dance practice.”

“I hope you’re not planning on offering lap dances to our poor customers,” Pam laughs. 

“What customers are those again?” Tara retorts.  “And does the idea make you jealous?”

Pam sets her mouth in a line, rolling her eyes.  “I think we both know the answer to that,” she says firmly.  “But if you’ve absolutely _gotta_ get your groove on, or whatever the kids say…”

“The kids haven’t said that in decades,” Tara snaps, then turns honey-sweet in a flash.  “I’m takin’ that to mean you won’t complain if I practice on you.”

As if to confirm this, she grinds against Pam’s lap, one hand trailing up the mostly naked flesh of her side; Pam in turn reaches to fondle Tara’s breast, Tara shakes her head and slaps Pam’s hand away.  “Hey now,” she chides, “You know the rules.  Look, but don’t touch.”

“Come _on_ ,” Pam groans, but it’s not like she doesn’t set rules when she’s on top, so she’ll play.

Pam has fucked dancers before, of course.  She’s fucked just about every kind of dancer there is, including no shortage of Fangtasia’s own, but this may be the first time she’s willingly let one of these dancers dance on _her_.  She’s certainly never fucked anybody who moves their body like Tara does: even her pauses aren’t fully paused, and when she stops grinding for a moment, it’s just so she can do other infuriatingly beautiful things like arch slowly back and push her breasts closer to Pam’s face.

The longer that Tara undulates in her lap, the more Pam’s tempted to flip her over and take her right there.  Her desire is growing steadily sharper, the lace between her legs is growing damper, and Tara’s smile is growing more and more blissed out, presumably as much because she’s enjoying Pam’s suffering as that she’s enjoying her dancing and whatever music she’s got going in her head.

She’s been practically bent double, her hips circling faster and faster, but lightning-fast she springs back up to throw her arms around Pam’s shoulders.  “I bet you’re goin’ nuts,” Tara coos, kissing along Pam’s jaw and tracing fingers down her spine.

“I’m wondering,” Pam mutters, “How it is that you’ve been writhing on top of me for this long and your fingers still aren’t inside me.”

Tara smirks.  “Yep,” she declares, bringing one leg around Pam’s waist.  “You’re goin’ nuts.”

“And you’re a fuckin’ tease,” Pam counters. 

“Only if I don’t follow through,” Tara whispers playfully.  One hand moves around Pam’s side and front, pulls at the elastic of her panties, and with her other hand, she pushes Pam back against the bed.  “Now,” she hums.  “Dance practice is over.”  She tugs those panties off, traces shapes on Pam’s skin.  “I thought up some other things I oughta be doin’ with my hips and my hands.”

“Good girl,” Pam coos, turning her smile loving to show it’s meant to be encouraging, not patronizing.

“If you want me to be,” Tara replies smoothly, and her hands finally, _finally_ get to work.


End file.
